


When the Gods Are Gone

by LadyStark28



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-08-28 19:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16729218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyStark28/pseuds/LadyStark28
Summary: A retelling of the early years of TNG, told alternatively from Wesley and Will's POV.





	1. Prologue: Did Someone Say...Games?

**Author's Note:**

> After about a million months (by my reckoning), I'm starting to VERY SLOWLY creep out of the "creative hibernation" that I fell into (the term came across my Tumblr page as a more encouraging alternative to "writer's block.") I didn't really do justice to the early episodes of TNG in "Every Sinking Star," and I've been meaning to fill in those gaps, but the idea faucet really slowed to a trickle over the summer. It's recently started up again, and while it's not perfect, I'm trying really hard to push ahead. Wesley's underage in the first season, so the boys will really only be friends, but a future relationship is implied. I'm working on some other pieces where Wes is an adult and there's more smut (yay!), but for now, they are JUST FRIENDS.
> 
> I'm posting the prologue and first chapter now because they're the only ones I have finished. They're VERY rough, so I'm counting on readers to leave suggestions in the reviews. I absolutely welcome constructive criticism, and I don't have a beta reader, so you guys are all I've got! It's so encouraging just knowing people are reading my stories, and I want to make it worth your time!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A retelling of the early years of TNG, told alternatively from Wesley and Will's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After about a million months (by my reckoning), I'm starting to VERY SLOWLY creep out of the "creative hibernation" that I fell into (the term came across my Tumblr page as a more encouraging alternative to "writer's block.") I didn't really do justice to the early episodes of TNG in "Every Sinking Star," and I've been meaning to fill in those gaps, but the idea faucet really slowed to a trickle over the summer. It's recently started up again, and while it's not perfect, I'm trying really hard to push ahead. Wesley's underage in the first season, so the boys will really only be friends, but a future relationship is implied. I'm working on some other pieces where Wes is an adult and there's more smut (yay!), but for now, they are JUST FRIENDS.
> 
> I'm posting the prologue and first chapter now because they're the only ones I have finished. They're VERY rough, so I'm counting on readers to leave suggestions in the reviews. I absolutely welcome constructive criticism, and I don't have a beta reader, so you guys are all I've got! It's so encouraging just knowing people are reading my stories, and I want to make it worth your time!

Chapter 1 - Prologue: Did Someone Say...Games?

 

Contrary to popular belief, the Q were not the only beings in the universe with seemingly limitless power. In fact, the Continuum’s powers were not as limitless or effortless as they appeared. The Q had spent millennia perfecting the fine art of omnipotent sleight-of-hand, and in the process learned that a heaping dose of swagger helped the magic trick go down.

 

Like any creature that makes a habit of pushing buttons just to see what will happen, the Q had cultivated a strained relationship with other species. Some, like the Calamarain, declared themselves the Q’s sworn enemies (with reason) and plotted furious revenge. Most species ignored the Q and their antics, hoping they would just go away.

 

And then there were the Travelers.

 

The Travelers were equal to the Q in power, although they didn’t care to brag about it. Generally preferring a policy of appeasement, the Travelers didn’t mind turning a blind eye if it kept the Q from bothering them. Occasionally, however, the Q stepped a bit too far out of line, and the Travelers would gently, but firmly, push them back.

 

To that end, the Travelers kept a close watch over Q’s involvement with the _Enterprise_ . Q claimed mere curiosity, but the messy business at Farpoint aroused suspicion. The Travelers sent an emissary to the flagship to assess the situation, but their delegate found something - rather, some _one -_ he did not expect, and the kind boy with latent spacetime abilities took all his attention away from the mischievous Q. Briefly lulled into complacency, the Travelers turned their attention to other matters, and the Q would have let well enough alone, if not for one of their order who nursed a puzzling (and decidedly eccentric) fascination with the human race.

 

Ever obsessed with humanity’s flimsy illusion of power, this singular Q had fixated on the captain of the flagship - after all, mortals themselves were barely worth his attention, so he may as well deal chiefly with the highest-ranking among them. After the Farpoint debacle, however, he grew bored with Picard’s posturing speeches and began casting about for other prey.

 

He briefly considered the android as one lucky candidate, but the very idea of it was uninspiring. If humans were galactically insignificant, the machines they built were even more so, and so the android was out.

 

The helmsman was rejected without a second glance. The physical condition of the gold-uniformed young man was a puzzling disappointment. How could humans have developed such advanced medicine, yet were limited to fixing blindness with an imperfect, clunky eyepiece that covered half the face?

 

The Klingon was dismissed as simply annoying, with his impotent strength and childish rage that dissipated like mist in the face of Q’s abilities. Among his own people, he may have made something of himself, but he chose to live instead as an obedient lapdog to a weaker species, and for that, he earned nothing but Q’s scorn.

 

The security chief was no better, although at least her rage could be traced to a tangible source. While Q was impressed that the woman survived a planet of rape gangs to reach her current position, he held no pity for her. Innumerable humanoids throughout the galaxy suffered worse torments, their lives as insignificant as insects; why waste pity on one ant that managed to escape the colony?

 

And so almost by default, Q turned his interest to the ship’s First Officer. The human male was no more impressive than any other, but he _was_ second-in-command, so that was something. In addition, Q suspected that the First Officer was less inclined to droning, indignant moral monologues than his captain - another mark in his favor.

 

The playing field needed no preparation, not when Q could conjure whatever environment suited him. He didn’t bother with rules, either, since he’d just make them up as he went along.

 

The pieces were chosen, the field was made ready, and the Travelers were elsewhere.

 

Let the games begin.


	2. Farpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Will met Wesley...and other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks in advance to anyone reading this. PLEASE let me know what you liked and didn't like in the comments - I promise I can take it!

Chapter 2: Farpoint

 

When Will Riker had accepted the assignment of First Officer on the _Enterprise,_ he had been desperate for a change. On the _Hood,_ his working relationship with Captain DeSoto remained strained; apparently, not wanting one’s captain to die was an unforgivable offense. As soon as DeSoto grudgingly agreed not to pursue a court-martial, Will had sent out transfer requests to any ship or station with an opening. Several promising responses came later the same day; by the next day, the offers had doubled. On the third day, an offer came in that Will couldn’t refuse - command of the _USS Drake_ . True, the _Drake_ wasn’t pretty; little more than a cramped rowboat in space, used to ferry personnel from planet to planet. But she wasn’t the _Hood,_ and if Will wanted her, all he had to do was say yes.

 

His hand hovered over the formal acceptance letter, but before he could send it off, a new message appeared on his screen. Will tapped the blinking green light on his PADD, then stared open-mouthed while his brain digested the news: _Commander William T. Riker is offered the assignment of First Officer aboard the newly-commissioned USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D. Transmit immediate response to Captain Jean-Luc Picard._

 

The flagship. Holy shit.

 

A new ship, new crew, new captain. A new start, and on the best ship in the fleet. The _best_ of the best. Will’s hand hovered over the PADD for a millisecond; did he really want to give up his own command to serve as another captain’s understudy? A quick glance at the _Drake’_ s cramped specs made up his mind; Will Riker could live a spartan lifestyle if necessary, but given the choice, he preferred plush comfort.

 

_I’ll just try it out_ , Will told himself. _If it’s not for me, I can always put in for a transfer._ He knew damn well that quitting the flagship was career suicide, but, as always, he needed an escape route. Just in case.

 

The moment he arrived at Farpoint Station, Will felt the glare of his new position’s spotlight. People seemed to already know him; officers he passed in the streets gave perfunctory nods, their backs straightening to unconscious attention. Will’s ego enjoyed the respectful gestures, but a nagging part of him wished he could shed his authority and blend in as one of the crew. When you’re the boss, people tend to give you a wide berth, and Will was constantly reminded that he was one heartbeat away from the top.

 

Entering the bustling marketplace, his eye caught a flare of red hair and a blue uniform clinging to a lovely set of curves. As soon as the figure turned, however, Will hastily wiped the appreciative grin from his face. He had studied the records of the assigned command staff on his trip over, and immediately recognized Dr. Crusher. With formidable credentials and a legendary temper, Will wisely decided to stay firmly on her good side. She moved away to the next stall, and suddenly Will spied a slip of an auburn-haired boy leaning against the stall of tiny statues and watching everything around him with wide, bright eyes. The kid didn’t seem to notice his mother had moved along, but Will grew worried for him, watching the doctor get further away.

 

_I’d better let him know before she’s out of sight._ Will hurried through the crowd, letting his long legs carry him to the boy’s side. He expected the same stiff, formal greeting he got from the officers, but the kid didn’t even seem to notice him. Will frowned and took a step closer, and the boy actually leaned over to look around Will at something on the other side of the marketplace. _I’m in his way_ , Will thought with amusement. He inched closer, until he was practically looming over the young man. Finally, the kid looked up, his heart-shaped face tense with annoyance, then relaxing in surprise.

 

“Commander Riker!” He exclaimed, his irritation dissolving into a sunbeam smile.

 

Will couldn’t help an answering grin. “Yes, sir. And you are?”

 

“I’m Wesley...Crusher.” He bounced on the balls of his feet and held out a slim hand. Will took it, if only to keep the kid from launching himself into orbit.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Wesley. How did you know who I was?”

 

Wesley let go of Will’s hand and waved vaguely toward the crowd of shoppers. “Oh, I memorized the crew’s files on the way here.”

 

Will raised an impressed eyebrow. “So you know all the command staff, then?”

 

A nod. “And the rest of the crew.”

 

Will started to nod back, then realized what the boy had just said. “The _rest_ of the crew? You mean, _everyone_? A thousand crew members?”

 

Wesley shifted, suddenly looking down at the mosaics under his feet. “Um, yeah. I just...I didn’t know anyone else on the ship, and I thought...I might fit in better if I knew who people were.”

 

A tiny spark kindled in Will’s chest, curious and affectionate and protective. He tamped it down and tried to cover his amazement; his gaping stare was clearly making the kid uncomfortable. “You’re wrong, you know.”

 

Wesley’s hazel eyes narrowed up at him. “Excuse me?”

 

“You said you didn’t know anyone else on the ship. You’re wrong. You know your mother, and now you know me.”

 

“Oh...yeah.” Wesley’s cheeks plumped in a bashful smile. “Oh! I should introduce you to my mother, since you’ll be working with her.” He looked around suddenly, then back to Will, eyebrows furrowed with concern. He craned his neck, flicking his eyes from stall to stall. “Um...she _was_ right here.”

 

Will frowned at the note of panic creeping into Wesley’s clear voice. Taking full advantage of his height, he scanned the crowd until he spotted the doctor’s blue uniform and fiery head among a crowd of shoppers, contemplating a stall of open shelves loaded with bolts of rich cloth. He placed one hand on Wesley’s shoulder to turn him in the right direction while he pointed with the other. “There, see the fabric shop?”

 

Wes’ shoulders relaxed, and he turned back to Will in relief, his pale cheeks stained rosy-pink. “Thanks for helping me, Commander.”

 

When Will felt his fingers grazing the fine hairs at the back of Wesley’s neck, he hastily moved his hand to his side. “Of course, Wesley.” He bent down slightly to look the young man in the face. “That’s my job.”

 

Wes beamed another smile at him, his hazel eyes sparkling green and gold. His lips parted, but before he could get a word out, Will’s communicator chirped to life.

 

_Lt. Commander LaForge to Commander Riker._

 

Will stiffened immediately and tapped his badge. “Riker here.”

 

_Your presence is requested at a formal introduction meeting with Groppler Zorn._

 

“Acknowledged. Riker out.” He gave Wesley a regretful shrug. “Duty calls. Stick close to your mother, and I’ll see you on board, ok?”

 

Wesley nodded, then tilted his chin toward the insignia on Will’s chest. “I wish I had one of those.”

 

Will straightened to his full height, unconsciously puffing his chest out a bit. “Work hard enough, and maybe you will someday.”

 

The comment was meant to be light-hearted, but Will was dismayed to see the sunshine dim from Wesley’s sweet face. The young man’s expression hardened, eyebrows tightening over his suddenly stormy gaze. He gazed inward at some private pain, and Will squirmed uncomfortably in the silence. As suddenly as the the clouds swept in, Wes shook them away. He looked up at Will again, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes; whatever had bothered him, it remained closed off to Will. “Yes, sir. See you on board.”

 


	3. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When everyone expects you to perform miracles, who cares when you're just being...you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here's the next part. Technically, it's chapter 2, but I don't know how to make AO3 count it that way, because it thinks the Prologue is chapter 1 (if anyone has a fix for that, I'd be very grateful!). This one's based on the episode "Where No One Has Gone Before." It's not a terrible episode for Season 1, although I absolutely HATE how everyone calls Wesley "The Boy." He's the CMO's son, for pete's sake; you can't remember his name?! Anyway, I know the writing's rusty, so please, please, please feel free to offer some advice, constructive criticism, whatever in the comments. You guys keep my motivation up; I can't thank you enough for taking the time to read my story!

Chapter 3: Gone

 

Engineering generally had two speeds: Serene Impulse and Frantic Warp 10. Right now, the atmosphere hovered around a 5, but that wouldn’t last long. What Kosinski proposed was nothing short of miraculous, and the crew would have been enthralled if the commander himself wasn’t such a pompous, strutting ass.

 

“Boy! Don’t play with that.” Kosinski’s condescension bled through every clipped syllable, mirroring words the captain had voiced plenty of times before, and Wesley hated both of them for it.

 

_I’m not_ playing, _moron. I know more about the warp drive than you._

 

Wesley knew he’d never win a stare-down with a superior Officer (or anyone, for that matter), so he bit his lip and lowered himself back to the stool next to the Traveler. The bald alien gifted a sympathetic look his way, and Wes tried to smile back, hiding his bitterness behind a pleasant mask. His eyes strayed back to Kosinski, now gesturing grandly and spouting nonsense. Commander Riker and Lieutenant Argyle looked on, and Wes smirked inwardly at the annoyance written in Riker’s blue eyes.

 

_Commander Riker doesn’t like him, either._ As if reading his mind, Riker shifted subtly toward the shadowed corner where Wes was sitting, and flashed a wink at him. That made Wes smile for real, and his mood brightened with the knowledge that at least _someone_ was on his side.

 

More than anyone else on the ship, including his peers, Riker _got_ him. Wesley didn’t understand why, but then, motives and personality traits weren’t his strong suit. He only knew that he felt better when Riker was around, like he mattered and wasn’t just a nuisance. The commander’s blue eyes always sparkled when they looked his way, and Wes liked to think about that, especially when he felt invisible.

 

Right now, however, it was more useful to stay unnoticed. Kosinski had finally shut up, and Wes watched silently as the Traveler moved away to join the officers at the large center console. Kosinski sat opposite the alien, both of them placing their hands on their consoles. Wes choked on a laugh watching Kosinski mime intense concentration; he caught Riker’s glance again as the commander gave a conspiratorial eye roll. Wesley glowed at that unseen connection between them, like lines drawn between stars in a constellation. A moment later, his answering grin faded away as his gaze found the Traveler.

 

The alien was also deep in thought, but unlike Kosinski, he was definitely not faking it. His oversized head was lowered reverently, so still and silent he could have been asleep. His hands, however, flew over the console with absolute certainty, making the panel flash brilliantly over his serene face. Wes was too far from the table to make out the actual equations being programmed into the warp drive, but he realized with a delightful shock that he didn’t need to see them - he _knew_ what they were. Of course he knew; the numbers and variables danced through his brain, beckoning to him to come and play.

 

Unaware of his own movement, Wes rose from his stool, intent on following the phantom equations, and promptly hit a wall. A red wall. A red wall...wearing a communicator? He looked up and blinked into Commander Riker’s eyes, blue pins holding him in place.

 

“Everything okay, Wes?” The commander’s solid voice always grounded him, brought him back from whatever galaxies his head had been spinning toward.

 

He couldn’t keep staring at the Traveler, or he’d go mad, and looking up at the commander made his face feel hot. So he stared at the floor, forcing Riker to lean in even closer. “I don’t think he - I mean Kosinski - is doing any of this.”

 

Riker looked back over his shoulder at the console table, then at the imposing warp core, now pulsing faster and faster as Kosinski and the Traveler worked their magic. His lips quirked up slightly, and he nudged Wesley’s arm to get his attention. “Well, he seems to be doing _something_.”

 

Wes gave a frustrated head shake, swiping hair out of his face and finally looking Riker in the eyes. “It’s not him. It’s the Trav...the assistant.”

 

Riker held his gaze, and Wes surprised himself by not looking away. The commander looked toward the table for a long moment, then back to Wes. “If that’s true, I can’t say I’m surprised.” He started to turn away with a shrug. “It’s fine as long as they don’t screw anything up.”

 

With prescient timing, Kosinski’s panicked voice suddenly cut through Engineering. “What are you doing?!”

 

Riker’s head whipped toward the core, now flashing blue like an insane strobe light. “The warp drive…”

 

“The Traveler!” Wesley’s cry ripped out of him, and before he knew what he was doing, he was at the alien’s side. The creature had collapsed on the console, but not before - and Wes _knew_ he had seen it happen - parts of him had flickered, disappeared and then come back. When he witnessed it, something inside of Wesley had pulled him insistently toward the Traveler, and he wondered if, wherever the alien went, he might go, too.

 

The compulsion to follow snapped as soon as the Traveler’s head hit the console. Wesley was left with only a vague sense of loss, a grief he didn’t understand. He didn’t know the Traveler at all, had never seen him before and had barely spoken to him, so why did he feel like crying?

 

Riker’s large hand lay on his shoulder in a comforting grip while the commander called Sickbay. Wesley took a shuddering breath and willed his mother to hurry. An agonizing few moments later, Dr. Crusher swept into Engineering with Captain Picard at her side. She said nothing to her son, not even glancing in his direction, and Wes wondered bitterly if she realized he was there.

 

Wes started toward her, to help, or explain, or _something_ , but the captain’s disdainful glare made him retreat back to Riker’s side. The commander moved subtly in front, partially shielding him while he gave his report.

 

When Riker finished his brief summary of events, the captain turned on Kosinski. “What have you done to my ship?” The captain’s posh accent barely contained the fury behind his question.

 

While Kosinski stammered under Picard’s withering stare, Riker cut in. “It wasn’t him; it never was. It was his assistant.”

 

Picard raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I sent you to oversee this procedure, Number One. Did no one notice what was really happening?”

 

Riker squared his shoulders and looked the captain in the eye. “Wesley did.”

 

Wesley flinched and tried to hide further behind Riker’s broad back. He did manage to note the brief confusion on the captain’s face: _Who the hell is Wesley? Oh, right. The boy whose name I can’t be bothered to remember - the one I have to be nice to because of his parents._

 

With visible effort, Picard spoke through Riker, in Wesley’s general direction. “If you knew something, why didn’t you say so?”

 

Wesley clenched his fists and bit back what he _really_ wanted to say. _I_ did, _and nobody listened to me, because people only notice me when I’m in trouble. I could be giving you a warning that would save the whole ship, and you still wouldn’t listen._

 

Before he could open his mouth and likely get himself banned from Engineering permanently, Riker jumped in. “He tried, twice. I didn’t listen.”

 

Picard’s mouth tightened further into its lemon-sucking scowl, but Wesley and Riker were both saved from a verbal evisceration as Dr. Crusher signaled for a transport for herself and the Traveler. The captain included himself in the order, tossing a command to Riker to meet them in Sickbay. As soon as the little group disappeared, Riker turned to his young friend. “C’mon, Wes.”

 

Wesley looked up in surprise from studying the equations on the console. “Me? But the captain didn’t say…”

 

“He didn’t say for you to _not_ come.” That damn blue twinkle again. Wesley smiled gratefully and followed the commander to Sickbay. It hurt, being the target of the captain’s hostility, but it hurt less knowing Riker had his back.

 

~

 

Less than a day later, the ship was back in its own quadrant, Kosinski had gone on to bother some other crew, and a brand-new acting ensign curled miserably under his covers in the CMO’s quarters. Wesley squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the rustling of his mother moving around their rooms. _Leave me alone. Please, just go to bed._ Her steps got closer, until he could smell her perfume in his doorway, even though he remained hidden under his stuffy cocoon.

 

She drew in a hesitant breath. “Wes? Are you okay?”

 

_Why do you care how I’m feeling? You let the captain chase the Traveler away._ He knew he was being unreasonable, so he swallowed his bitter thoughts instead of voicing them. That, and he knew if he opened his mouth he’d start crying. He burrowed further into his bed, his misery piling up like broken branches after a storm.

 

He sensed, rather than heard, the uncertainty in his mother’s voice. “I know it’s been...a long day. I’m sure you’re tired. Get a good night’s sleep, alright? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

 

But he didn’t, and the next morning, he was a no-show for breakfast. “I don’t feel well,” he muttered as his mother laid a cool hand on his forehead. “And I’m still tired.”

 

“Hm. You don’t have a fever. Let me grab my tricorder.”

 

“I’m just _tired_ ,” he insisted, trying to avoid a scan that would reveal him to be perfectly healthy. A sudden rage flared in his chest, and he realized he _wanted_ a fight. _Isn’t that what_ normal _teenagers do? Fight with their parents? And anyway, she doesn’t get to only act nice to me when the captain’s not around._

 

He buried his face back in the damp pillow to stem more tears. He had wanted _so much_ to make a home on the _Enterprise_ , but it was the same worn-out story all over again. He knew the plot so well he could perform it onstage. Mom comes home with that determined look in her eyes. She announces they’re moving. Over the next few weeks, she expends all the fake enthusiasm she can muster to convince him how _wonderful_ it will be, what a _fantastic_ opportunity, _so many_ new friends, _of course_ they’ll stay in touch with everyone they’re leaving behind, isn’t he _lucky?_ This last time had been the worst; _you remember Jean-Luc, don’t you, Wes? He’ll love seeing you again. It’s the flagship, the best in the fleet; why don’t you research the specs and show the officers what you can do?_

 

He kept his eyes screwed shut and listened to his mother bustling around their quarters, hoping she’d forget the tricorder. The door chime was a welcome distraction, but Wesley’s persistent curiosity made him pull the blanket away from one ear to try to catch who had arrived.

 

His mother’s brisk tone was undercut by a measured, lower one, but Wes couldn’t decipher the voice muffled through his bedroom door. To his surprise, a moment later he caught two sets of feet heading his way, and he flung the blanket back over his head just as the door slid open.

 

“Wes?” God, he hated that fake-cheerful voice. “Commander Riker’s here to see you. Are you well enough to come out?”

 

The commander! Wesley perked up instantly, uncovering his face and nearly leaping out of bed before he checked himself. “I’m in my pajamas,” he mumbled, and felt his cheeks heat up.

 

From the open doorway, Riker suppressed a grin, but a mischievous spark lit his eyes. “I’m not offended. I mean, _I_ always wear my uniform to bed, but if our newest _acting ensign_ prefers pj’s...” He trailed off with a dramatic sigh, and Wesley bit his bottom lip to keep from ruining his own sulky mood with a laugh.

 

Beverly smiled indulgently. “Well, I’ll give you two some space; my shift starts soon, anyway.” Wesley saw her shoulders relax as she left the room, relieved to be spared dealing with a recalcitrant teenager, especially her own. He followed Riker out into the living area just in time to see his mother’s blue lab coat disappear out the main door.

 

As soon as the door slid shut, Riker fixed Wes with a raised eyebrow. “Playing hooky?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Riker’s arms crossed over his broad chest. “We had a lesson today. Ocampa governmental systems.” He chuckled at Wesley’s scowl. “I know you hate it, but I didn’t think the doctor’s kid would be foolish enough to fake sick.”

 

“I’m _not_ faking.” Wes matched the commander’s stance, painfully aware that his scrawny frame wasn’t nearly as imposing when he crossed _his_ arms. His bare feet fidgeted on the carpet, and he rubbed his naked arms against the cool air in the room.

 

Riker’s face softened. “Come sit down, Wes.” He settled on the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him, looking so at home that Wes almost forgot they were in _his_ quarters, not the commander’s.

 

Grabbing a hooded sweatshirt (that his mother hated) from the back of a chair, Wes shrugged into it and joined Riker on the couch. He sat stiffly, staring down at his hands twisting inside his too-long sleeves. He wanted to talk to Riker - he always wanted to talk to him - but he didn’t want to talk about the Traveler.

 

A few moments into the silence, Wesley felt a hand gently lift his chin to look into Riker’s eyes. The commander studied him, seemed about to say something and then changed his mind. His hand moved to rest companionably on Wesley’s thin shoulder. “Feeling sick doesn’t always mean you’re physically ill, you know,” he finally said. “Sometimes it’s ok to...rest your brain. Know what I mean?”

 

Only out of long habit, Wes nodded his agreement, but he could tell Riker wasn’t fooled. The commander waited patiently while Wesley matched his stare, eventually looking back down to his sleeves, now wrinkled and messy. Suddenly, he truly was exhausted, and sad, and lonely, and too many other things that he wasn’t supposed to be. The words slipped from his soft mouth before he could stop them, so quietly Riker had to lean in even closer to hear. “I wish the Traveler had stayed.”

 

“Oh...Wes,” Riker breathed, “I didn’t realize...I’m sorry.”

 

Wesley looked up in surprise. “For what?”

 

The commander sighed and placed a comforting hand on Wes’ arm. “You never should have been in Engineering during that mess. It wasn’t up to you to fix.”

 

“But I _wanted_ to be there! The Traveler needed my help.” Wesley’s stomach sank; if Riker didn’t understand him, nobody would.

 

“Wes, you were a huge help; you really were fantastic down there. Didn’t the captain make you an acting ensign?”

 

Wesley nodded silently; he knew he should be grateful, but that was tough to do when it wasn’t really clear what his new position meant. Judging by the confused - and incredulous - looks of the other bridge officers, nobody else knew, either.

 

Riker, however, wasn’t finished, and his blue gaze showed affectionate concern. “You deserved that recognition, Wes, without question. What I meant was that, even though you did an incredible job, it _wasn’t your job._ It’s the adults’ responsibility to take care of you, not the other way around. Understand?”

 

Wesley stared at the commander’s earnest face. He understood the words, but the concept was entirely novel to him. His mother had told him on the way to Farpoint, _You want to be the example for the other kids on the ship_ , _don’t you, Wes?_ and he tried to act accordingly. On Tethys, his trigonometry teacher had warned him, _Don’t ask the visiting professor too many questions; we don’t want to be rude, do we?_ And even further back, to the edges of his memory, he saw the stern face of Commander Keel, in full dress uniform with a black armband circling his bicep. _You’re the man of the house now, Wesley. You’ll take care of your mother, won’t you?_

 

Now, a different commander sat before him, with gentle kindness beaming from his sky-blue eyes, and Wesley wondered if maybe, just maybe, someone might be willing to take care of him.


	4. Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley's saved the ship more times drunk than most people have sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay between chapters, but the holidays got in the way and the words are JUST NOT COMING EASILY (aargh!) but I'm trying to push through. I know the story isn't up to my usual writing standards, and it's killing me, but I think I need to just post this chapter as is, because if I stare at it any longer trying to fix it, I'll go insane. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE help me work on it - feel free to let me know in the comments what you liked, what you didn't, and how I can improve. Oh, and I'm updating the previous chapter titles to fit a pattern of aligning with the original episodes. It might be cheesy, but I like patterns, so there.
> 
> I also forgot to mention in the other chapter notes that I don't own Star Trek and I'm not making any money off this, so if Paramount tries to sue me, they won't get much.

 

Chapter 4: Naked

 

While his experience at Farpoint Station certainly set the tone for this particular ship, Will’s thoughts returned again and again to the two most enigmatic creatures he met there: Q, of course, and, oddly, Wesley Crusher.

 

Q was almost an afterthought. Will had never interacted with him directly, only hearing about the bizarre encounter from the captain’s logs, as well as bits and pieces from people who were actually there. Beyond that, his interest in Q was limited to brief wishes for omnipotence when problems arose on the ship; the _Tsiolkovsky_ virus, for example, would have been so much easier to deal with if it could be cured with a magical wave of the hand. Instead, they had Wesley, and from what Will had seen, that was almost as good.

 

Will’s lofty self-image of cool, decisive authority always melted under Wesley’s sunny smile. He had passed the young man in the corridor on his way to the Bridge just before they discovered the _Tsiolkovsky_ and its doomed crew. Wes had nearly collided with him, his attention on a curious device he was carrying.

 

“Whoa! Easy there, space cadet.” Will smiled down to meet Wes’ wide, startled eyes.

 

“Space cadet? I’m not a cadet...oh.” Wes’ fair cheeks flared as he realized he had almost barreled into the First Officer. “Sorry, Commander,” he mumbled, glancing at the unwieldy item in his hands. About the size of a PADD, the thing had chips and connection wires scattered all over. It looked unimpressive, but Will had quickly learned that _everything_ Wes did was worth a second look.

 

“What’s your hurry, Wes?” Will pointed his chin toward the device in Wesley’s  hands. “Working on something?”

 

Wesley had a habit of stammering in front of authority, especially when his emotions were running high, which was nearly always. Excitement, anxiety, enthusiasm, embarrassment...Will couldn’t decide which glowing look he liked best. The young man tended to gravitate comfortably toward Will, but now he was clearly in a hurry to be on his way. His thin shoulders lifted in a shrug as he gazed past Will. “Just a project.”

 

“For school?”

 

Wes shifted his feet on the smooth carpet. “Uh...no. It’s just for...for me.”

 

Will raised an eyebrow. “Looks complex.”

 

A mischievous spark lit Wesley’s hazel eyes, and he lifted the device higher for Will’s inspection. “It’s a tractor beam. I used the same principles as the big one on the ship, but I built it with smaller components so it’s portable.” His cheeks plumped in a proud smile. “Earlier, I lifted a chair with it and made it float across our quarters.”

 

Will grinned back, shaking his head in amazement. “You should bring that thing down to Engineering. I’ll bet you could show the senior engineers a thing or two.” He went a step further, trying only to emphasize his praise. “The captain would probably be impressed, too.”

 

Wes shrugged, seeming uncomfortable with the subject. “The captain doesn’t like me on the Bridge, and I’m only supposed to be in Engineering for lessons.” He frowned at the floor, and Will was sorely tempted to contradict him, but he knew Wesley wasn’t foolish enough to believe it. Picard may have made him an acting ensign, but that didn’t mean he wanted him having the run of the ship. After giving Will charge of Wesley’s education, the illustrious Frenchman had added another assignment: _Keep him out of trouble and out of my way, Number One._

 

Well, if talking about the captain made Wesley upset, even a little, then Will wouldn’t mention it. Instead, he cast about for a different topic of conversation, if only to keep Wes there a bit longer. “Hey, I read your report about the Beta Lyrae system. It was...very thorough.” That was an understatement. Wesley’s report consisted of nearly forty rambling pages detailing wonder after wonder of the distant binary star system. Will was certain Wes knew his subject, but he did feel the need to address the mechanics of his writing (without hurting his feelings, of course). “You know, it was _so_ thorough that it got a little tough for me to follow. Maybe we can talk about organizing the information so it’s easier to read.”

 

To Will’s amusement, Wes’ hazel eyes narrowed in slight irritation. Clearly, the young prodigy was not in the habit of having to explain himself. “What parts were hard to understand?”

 

“Oh, I _understood_ everything, it’s just that I couldn’t quite see how some of the topics came together. At one point, you mentioned something about how the smaller of the two stars used to be bigger, then parts of it flowed into its companion star, then you started talking about sound wave oscillations, and then…” Will gestured helplessly toward the twinkling field outside the nearest corridor window. “Well, I just wasn’t sure what you were getting at.”

 

Rather than seeming insulted, Wes’ face lit up excitedly. He suddenly shoved the device he was holding into Will’s hands, grabbed the older man’s wrist and practically dragged him closer to the window. His slender hands indicated the dots of light while framing his words in frantic explanation. “Okay, so you play the trombone, right? And you know how it makes sound because air vibrates against the mouthpiece? Stars do the same thing! Well, sort of. Air gets trapped in the star’s layers and causes the star to vibrate and when that happens it makes sound like...like...music!”

 

Will was thankful that Wes stopped to breathe, because it allowed his own brain to catch up enough to at least _pretend_ he knew more about the subject than Wes. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” Wesley nodded, his face shining in enthusiastic wonder. “It really is a perfect comparison, especially considering the name of the constellation housing the system.”

 

Puzzlement stole into Wes’ mercurial expression. “‘Lyra’? What does that have to do with it?”

 

“It refers to a harp.” Wesley’s raised brow told Will in no uncertain terms that the young man needed a more well-rounded education. “An ancient string instrument. You know, like cherubs and Greek gods play.”

 

Wesley had reached the end of his attention span. “Uh, sure, Commander.” He reached out and took back the hand-held tractor beam, signaling the end of the conversation. “Well, I should get going. I’ll try to be more...organized...with my reports from now on.”

 

Will laughed, causing a sweet blush to spread across the young man’s cheeks. He clapped Wes’ shoulder with a large hand, pointing his chin toward the device. “We’ll work on it together. Nice job, Ensign Crusher.”

 

That earned him another sparkling grin, and Wesley turned and started toward Sickbay. “Thanks, Commander. See you later.” Just before he reached the bend in the corridor, Wes glanced back and gave Will a small wave and a shy smile. If it weren’t for the impending _Tsiolkovsky_ disaster, that alone would have made Will’s whole day.

 

***

 

As things turned out, by the end of the First Officer’s shift most of the _Enterprise_ ’s crew was severely incapacitated, and Will’s favorite acting ensign had taken over the ship with his ingenious little project. It took longer than it should have for Will to recognize the peril of the star matter speeding toward the ship, and he struggled to remain optimistic, a task that was becoming more difficult the longer it took to break through Wesley’s tractor beam.

 

“I’m sure the chief engineer can disable the device, Captain.” Okay, that was a small lie. Will was fairly certain no engineer in the fleet could unplug that box if Wesley didn’t want them to, at least not without dismantling the entire dilithium chamber.

 

Picard’s face said he didn’t believe it either, but before he could respond, the chief engineer herself chimed in. _I’m still working on cutting power to the device, Captain. Even if I’m able to break it, we have another problem._ Someone _pulled out all the control chips and scattered them on the floor; it’ll take hours to put them all back correctly._

 

Then Wesley, as incensed as Will had ever heard him: _It was an adult who did it!_ A strange tinkling sound could be heard in the background, and Will almost laughed out loud when he realized it was piles of control chips hitting the floor. A moment later his brain reminded him that it wasn’t funny - but it _was_ \- because the ship would be blown to smithereens in a very short while, and why was it so damn hot in here?

 

The captain’s sharp accent cleared his thoughts, at least for the moment. “Thank you, Chief. Keep working at cutting the power. We’ll deal with the control chips once you’re inside.”

 

After a brief hesitation, the Chief Engineer responded, her voice heavy with defeat. _It’s too late, Captain. We’ll never be able to restore power in time to move out of the path of the debris._

 

Wesley’s chipper voice suddenly rang through the Bridge. _Mr. Data could do it._

 

A heartbeat passed before the captain accepted the proffered solution without dithering over the source. He nodded in Will’s direction. “Get him to Engineering, Commander.”

 

“Let’s go, Data.” Will had a hell of a time getting them both to Engineering. His progress slowed as Data gazed in wonder at every flashing light they passed in the corridors, but they managed to reach their destination just as the Chief Engineer cut one last wire and the mini tractor beam disappeared. Wesley’s angelic face crumpled in rare frustration, and part of Will’s distracted brain wanted to scoop him up and make him happy again. Realizing he was still gripping Data’s arms, Will shoved the android past the warp core and over to the main control panels. Data dropped to the floor with an abrupt thud and began slipping chips into the panel with robotic speed.

 

The chief engineer was apoplectic, gesturing toward Wesley with murder in her eyes. “He pulled out all the control chips, Commander. We’ll never get them back in time.”

 

Wesley shot up from his seat at the power console. “I _did not!_ ” His teenage outrage at the unfair accusation melted into Will’s favorite shining smile as he suddenly noticed the First Officer. “Commander Riker! Look what I can do!” He swayed and nearly fell back onto the stool, then crossed his arms and rested his chin on the console, gazing intently at his creation. Slowly, almost lazily, Wes reached out and fiddled with a couple of connections before turning a triumphant grin in Will’s direction. “I made it a repulsor beam!”

 

Will’s hands came together in applause that only lasted a few seconds before the _clickclickclick_ of chips slotting in place reminded him they were all about to die. “Data, can you get power back in time?”

 

Data spoke so calmly he could have been reciting a personnel file. “No. This will take slightly more time than we have, sir.”

 

Will dropped onto the nearest stool in defeat, wiping sweat from his brow and resigning himself to his fate. He was so far gone that his brain only registered a vague interest at the sound of Wesley’s voice.

 

Holding tightly to his tractor-turned-repulsor beam, Wes spoke to no one in particular. “If this were a thousand times more powerful than it is…” Racing to the back panel, he snapped out of the viral fog long enough to address the Chief Engineer. “Why not try it with the real thing? Why not reprogram the tractor beam to push the _Tsiolkovsky_ away, if we just need another minute?”

 

The Chief Engineer glared daggers at him. “It would take _weeks_ of laying out new circuits…”

 

“Why not just see it in your head?” Wes scoffed at her, and Will almost laughed out loud at the woman’s outraged expression. Wesley, on the other hand, was clearly done debating, and had turned his attention to the main control panel on the wall. Will’s brain filled with the cacophony of the blaring red alert klaxon, the clicking chips, the assistant engineer humming to himself, and Wesley’s voice going at warp speed.

 

Will had been drunk before, certainly, and had most definitely done stupid things while drunk, but he could confidently say that he had never, in all his reckless youth, taken over Main Engineering of a Galaxy-class starship. Clearly, Wesley’s determination to impress the captain had jumped the rails in the midst of the _Tsiolkovsky_ virus, and Will would have felt (perhaps misguided) pride if they hadn’t been in the path of certain death.

 

Instead, he stared glumly at the viewscreen as a ship-destroying asteroid headed their way. Wesley’s rapid-fire chatter finally distracted him, and he watched mesmerized as the young man’s delicate hands flew over the control panel, ending in a decisive punch to one last button that turned their tractor beam into a repulsor beam and saved the ship from destruction. In that moment, Will wanted to wrap his arms around Wesley and feel those same hands on his shoulders and in his hair. He contented himself with memorizing the wondering expression on Wesley’s face, staring into an infinity of stars that Will knew he saw differently than everyone else.


	5. Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who executes someone for falling on flowers?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to speak too soon, but the words are coming a teensy bit easier lately, so I'm trying to strike while the iron's hot. This chapter's from the episode "Justice," one of the first season's clunkier attempts at a morality play (and that's saying a lot). The episode's writer's couldn't seem to decide if they wanted to lecture the audience about law and order, or religion, or benevolent fascism, or whatever, and all of the dialogue seems very stilted and forced. The one bright spot is that Dr. Crusher actually displays some maternal emotion, seeming near tears as her son awaits execution (as opposed to "Remember Me," in which she ignored an unconscious Wesley in favor of hugging Picard - not that I'm bitter). 
> 
> Anyway, I will humbly beg and plead for any constructive comments. This chapter is a bit short, and I honestly don't know what else to do with it, so PLEASE let me know what you liked and what I could improve. I can not overstate how motivating it is to know someone is reading this! Thank you!
> 
> And of course, I don't own Star Trek and I'm not making any money off this. If I were, do you really think I'd give a pass to an entire planet of blonde people with bad, late-80's perms? Not a chance.

 

Chapter 5: Justice

 

Wesley sat alone in his cell, although “cell” was a bit of a stretch. He _was_ being held against his will and the room, though comfortably furnished, was locked from the outside, and to Wesley that was as good as prison. It did have a window, and Wes perched on the sill with his forehead resting on the glass, gazing down at the manicured lawns a hundred stories below.

 

His thoughts ricocheted between terror and incredulity. _Who executes someone for falling on_ flowers? _What the hell is the punishment for arson? Or murder?_ His mother must be losing her mind right now. The captain, on the other hand, would be glad enough to be rid of him. You don’t grow up a fatherless prodigy without developing a keen sense of when someone hates you, though to be fair, the snowball to Picard’s bald head probably didn’t help.

 

Wes felt his chest tighten and he screwed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the ache of despair creeping through his body. He tried to think of something more pleasant than the captain’s scowl; if he had to die, he may as well think happy thoughts on the way.

 

His mind drifted back to his mother, but that hurt, too, so he quickly shook her face away. He thought of the Bridge, and the helm seat he was dying to try out. Geordi would let him, Wes knew it, but with the captain there he didn’t dare get within reach of the console. Although he’d bet Commander Riker would be okay with it. Yeah, of course he would.

 

The door opened with a nearly-silent snick of the lock, and Wes leapt from the windowsill and stood at attention. The blond, muscled guard looked just like the last blond, muscled guard; Wes found he didn’t care enough to tell them apart.

 

“Wesley Crusher?”

 

Wes glared at the man. “Yeah; who else would be in here?”

 

“If you please, I respectfully request that you accompany me to the council chamber.”

 

Wesley’s patience snapped. “Stop being so polite to me! It’s...it’s...mean!”

 

Blondie looked confused. “How is politeness among friends considered unkind?”

 

Wesley felt like he was talking to a particularly stupid bully. He emphasized each word accordingly, the tension in his jaw sending a shot of pain straight through his temples. “Because we’re _not friends_ . I’m in jail. You’re going to kill me. That’s the _unkind_ part. Get it?”

 

The tow-headed idiot had the nerve to actually look _sorry._ “The circumstances are most unfortunate. However, the council is in grave need of your assistance, and your cooperation would be very much appreciated.”

 

That sparked a hint of interest. “My...assistance? What could you possibly need my help for?” Probably a technical issue; Commander Riker had once - in front of _Data_ \- called Wesley “our very own gadget guru,” a compliment that had sent Wes’ mood into orbit for days afterward. This time, however, he was sorely disappointed.

 

“We need you to reason with your captain. He is being most...intransigent.”

 

Wes raised an eyebrow, feigning concern. “Oh?” Everyone knew the captain was a stubborn mule; he had heard that exact description from his mother on more than one occasion, particularly since they moved to the _Enterprise_.

 

Blondie held out his hands, confusion distressing his chiseled features, which Wesley privately felt weren’t nearly as attractive as Commander Riker’s. “Your captain is insisting - we don’t understand his persistence, as our laws have been clearly explained to him - but he continues to demand that you be...released.”

 

Well, _that_ was a surprise. Wes tried to suppress the pleasant smile that was suddenly tugging at his mouth. Could the captain really care enough about saving Wesley’s life that he would defy an entire planet _and_ the Prime Directive? It was certainly an encouraging thought, but Wes’ expression hardened again as he realized the guard was waiting for a response. “So what am I supposed to do about it?”

 

“We would be most grateful if you would convince the captain to withdraw his petition for your release. Although he has shown little respect for our laws, he may listen to one of his own people. As I said, your assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

 

Wesley’s heart-shaped face had become more incredulous as the man spoke. “You want me to convince Captain Picard to _let you kill me?_ What is _wrong_ with you people? Why would I ever agree to that?” His hands clenched against his rib cage where Wes had crossed his arms.

 

Blondie looked affronted at Wesley’s belligerence. “Because it is the right thing to do in accordance with our laws. _And_ the laws of your Federation.”

 

Wes set his chin in the defiant gesture that his mother hated. “Just because it’s the law, doesn’t mean it’s right.” He had never understood the rationale behind the Prime Directive, anyway. What was so bad about getting involved with other cultures? If the Federation had technology and scientific information that could be useful, shouldn’t it be shared?

 

But those were questions for another day, one in which he wasn’t at risk of being executed. The guard, having apparently given up arguing judicial ethics, now gestured toward the door with an open palm. “If you please, the council is waiting. Your captain and doctor are there, as well.”

 

At the mention of his mother, Wesley felt his throat tighten, unbidden tears threatening the corners of his eyes. Although he had no intention of convincing the captain to give up on him, he’d do whatever was necessary to see his mother again. Lifting his face in a pose of angelic obedience, he willed his arms and hands to relax and walked toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

***

 

The moment Wesley stepped foot in the council chamber, all of his bravado crumbled. He tried rushing toward his mother, but two blond clones and his own escort blocked his way. Dr. Crusher looked like she was about to cry, and that upset Wes more than anything else. With both Crushers looking frantically to him for help, the captain wisely intervened.

 

“Liator, surely you would not keep the boy from his mother?”

 

The Edo directing the proceedings sighed, but relented with a nod. A heartbeat later, Wesley was swept into his mother’s fierce embrace. He clutched her back, surprising himself by burying his face in the collar of her blue lab coat; he suddenly felt very vulnerable, and very young.

 

The captain’s aristocratic tone seemed to come from light-years away. “I am truly sorry, Liator, but I will not permit you to execute this boy.”

 

“You _are_ powerful, Captain, but if you seek to destroy the peace and tranquility of our world for the sake of one child, be assured that God will punish you.”

 

The captain sighed. “I may suffer nearly as much from my own superiors for violating the Prime Directive.” He held a hand out to the Crushers, a surprisingly benevolent gesture. “Wesley, Dr. Crusher, if you please.”

 

As the pair joined the small group of _Enterprise_ officers, Wesley’s eyes flicked toward Commander Riker. The older man’s mouth turned up every so slightly, his chin dipping in a private nod that could have been approval or relief, or perhaps a bit of both. He moved subtly into position behind the Crushers, and Wesley eyed him gratefully. Surrounded on all sides by his own family, he wondered how he could have ever thought the captain would abandon him.

 

His relief was short-lived, however, as Captain Picard tried, and failed, to order the group beamed up. The transporter chief reported an inexplicable block - _All systems check out, Captain; the controls simply won’t respond._

 

Blondie #2 gloated in righteous triumph. “God has heard our distress. It is God who has prevented you from leaving.”

 

Picard’s already-stretched patience snapped. Addressing the empty air above their heads, his subtle accent lent a knife’s edge to his words. “There can be no justice as long as laws are absolute!”

 

Behind Wesley, Riker’s smooth tone chimed in. “When has justice ever been as simple as a rulebook?”

 

Time seemed to stop in that moment, and Wesley’s stomach tightened as he realized that he may not make it out of this alive, after all. His mind jumped to each crew member around him, silently saying his goodbyes. The captain, Tasha, Worf, Riker, and, most painfully, his mother; a lifetime of connections that he had taken for granted, about to be snipped as cleanly as scissors through thread. He had just begun wondering if he would see his father again, and what in the world he would tell him, when the room shimmered in front of his eyes. Wesley blinked, and when he looked again he found himself standing on the transporter pad, his mother’s head resting on one shoulder and Riker’s hand on the other.

 

The captain regained his composure immediately, commenting in Riker’s direction, “It seems the Edo god agrees with you, Number One.”

 

***

 

A short while later, Wesley sat in Ten Forward toying with his fork and not really tasting each bite of apple pie. His mother hadn’t wanted him out of her sight, but she _was_ still on duty and Wes couldn’t stand to hang around Sickbay for the rest of her shift. The medical staff were generally sweet to him (his mother was their boss, after all), but he didn’t feel like answering uncomfortable questions, and told his mother he needed some time alone to think through everything that had happened with the Edo. His mother hadn’t been happy, but he pacified her by promising to only go to Ten Forward, and to be home before her shift ended.

 

Now, surrounded by off-duty officers and civilians, Wes was satisfied with their compromise. He had thought he didn’t want to be around other people, but just getting to Ten Forward caused a creeping paranoia that any moment the Edo god would change its mind and Wesley would be whisked back to his cell, awaiting death by lethal injection. He felt much safer sitting in the ship’s social hub, watching through one of the large windows as the Edo planet receded into the field of stars behind them.

 

A familiar voice, smoother than the caramel sauce drenching his dessert, interrupted Wesley’s thoughts. “Pie looks good. Do they have any more, or did you steal the last piece?”

 

Wes grinned up into Commander Riker’s sparkling blue eyes. “It’s from the replicator; I’m sure they can get you a piece if you ask nicely.”

 

Riker laughed, mounting the chair opposite Wesley in one fluid motion. “You had quite the adventure today. I’m surprised you’re not passed out in bed by now.” He raised a hand to one of the waitstaff, pointing toward Wesley’s plate. The man nodded and headed for the large replicator behind the bar. Wes wondered if social interactions would ever come that easily to him; lately, every time he opened his mouth felt like walking a plank of awkward anxiety, complete with snapping crocodiles waiting beneath his feet.

 

Riker was watching him closely, and Wes realized the older man was waiting for a response. “Um, yeah, I’m actually not tired. I just need to...think about things for a while.”

 

An empathetic hum sounded in Riker’s throat, and Wesley looked away so the commander wouldn’t catch the tightness worrying at his eyes. He spotted the server heading toward them holding a small plate. “Your pie’s here.”

 

Riker moved his arms from the table as the server set the plate in front of him. His eyes stayed on Wesley, even as he speared a piece of pie and popped the large bite in his mouth. “Mmmm...good choice.” He peered at Wesley’s barely-touched dessert. “Hey, you got sauce on yours? You must be on the staff’s good side.”

 

Entirely unbidden, Wesley blurted out, “The captain shouldn’t have saved me. He put the whole ship in danger.”

 

Riker was unfazed by the sudden shift in conversation; in fact, he seemed to be expecting it. “First of all, there’s no way in hell the captain was leaving you to be killed. So _that’s_ a non-issue.”

 

“But the Prime Directive-”

 

“Second, there’s precedent of Starfleet breaking the Prime Directive when a crew member’s life is at stake; even Captain James Kirk did it. So there’s that.”

 

“But I broke their law…”

 

“And third, it was the responsibility of the adults, myself included, to make sure we knew the Edo’s laws _before_ we sent an away team down there.” Riker closed his eyes briefly, his handsome face clouded with self-recrimination. “It was…a lapse in protocol. It won’t happen again.” He licked his lips, shaking away the solemnity brought on by his frank confession. “Now eat your pie.”

 

Wesley studied the commander’s face for a moment, finding comfort, as he always did, in the older man’s sincerity. He was suddenly starving, and helped himself to a large forkful. “It _is_ good pie. Thanks for keeping me company, Commander.”

 

Riker’s indulgent smiled dimpled his cheeks and made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “My pleasure, Mr. Crusher.”


	6. Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Wesley's upset, all Will knows how to do is listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter combines the episodes "Lonely Among Us" and "The Battle." It always drove me crazy that we never got much background info on Jack Crusher, aside from a few throw-away lines amidst Picard's pining for his dead friend's widow. The short scene in "Family" where Wesley watches his dad's holo-message was very sweet, but barely scratched the surface. The writer's missed some great opportunities to have Wes ask the captain about his father, like the shuttlecraft ride in "Samaritan Snare" and the desert cave scene in "Final Mission." Thankfully we have fanfic to fill in the gaps.
> 
> I'm still struggling through my creative hibernation, and I'm well aware this isn't my best work. I absolutely welcome thoughts and suggestions about how I can improve. As always, I am so grateful to anyone reading this. Please, please, please comment - it encourages my brain to keep trying!

 

Chapter 6: Lonely

  
  


Will liked to show off, and he found himself reveling in the rush of Wesley’s eyes, bright and wide at some impressive First Officer feat. What surprised him was his own admiration at the small miracles that sprang from Wesley’s mind, and the young man’s shy denial that he was anything more than a typical teenager.

 

Tasha liked to tease him. “You spoil the kid, Will.” 

 

“Like you should talk,” Will countered, and Tasha suppressed a guilty grin. Just last week, she had let Wesley have a go at running the Security station on the upper part of the Bridge. She only gave it up when Wes thanked her politely and retreated back to Geordi’s side at the helm, clearly preferring his comfort zone closer to the view screen. Really, all the senior officers indulged the doctor’s son, with the notable exception of the captain, of course. After declaring Wesley an acting ensign, Picard had happily handed him over to the First Officer for his education, and Will was honored to oblige.

 

Will had learned not to expect to adhere to the lessons he carefully planned for Wes. His pre-determined topics always fell headlong into the labyrinth of Wesley’s thoughts, and the commander was happy to follow. Today, however, his young friend was uncharacteristically quiet, parsing the equations Will had assigned (and Data had written) with the solemnity of a monk. It made Will want to joke, or make faces, or stand on his head; anything to see Wesley’s brilliant smile.

 

He settled for a nudge to Wes’s shoulder. “You ok, kiddo?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Will frowned. “Hmm. How’s the math going?”

 

“Fine, Commander.” One slender hand reached up to push hair out of his eyes, and he bit back an irritated sigh. 

 

_ Please, call me Will  _ almost slipped from the commander’s mouth, but he remembered his authority just in time. And he knew a sharp “fine” from a teenager meant anything but; Will had voiced the word to his own father often enough, albeit at higher volume and with far more bitterness.

 

“Wes.” 

 

Wesley finally lifted his hazel eyes to Will’s, and attempted a smile. “I’m sorry, sir. I was...umm...just trying to get this done. Really, everything’s fine.”

 

Will lifted his eyebrows, making a mental note to not even  _ try  _ to teach Wes poker; the young prodigy had many talents, but bluffing was not among them. Even so, Will decided not to call him on it just yet. Outwardly, he gave a shrug and turned back to the department head reports in front of him. The time ticked by in silence, Will sneaking quick glances at Wes, wondering how many minutes it would take for him to break.

 

As it turned out, the answer was four. 

 

“Did Lt. Argyle leave the ship because of me?” Wes asked the question so quietly that Will was sure he misheard.

 

“What’s this about Argyle?” 

 

Wesley turned in his seat and faced Will head-on, his slight frame braced against some terrible truth. “Lt. Argyle, the Engineering Chief. He transferred to the  _ Tolstoy  _ after that energy life-form took over the ship and Lt. Singh got killed. Was it because of me?”

 

“Wesley, what…” Will was used to being blown away by the young man’s intellectual leaps, but such a random, loaded question threw him off balance. He leaned in close enough to pick out shards of green in Wesley’s eyes. “Why would you think that?”

 

Wes twisted his fingers together in his lap. “He and Lt. Singh were friends. If I had stayed in Engineering that day, maybe the energy beam would have gone for me instead of him. But instead, Lt. Singh died, and I’m still here, so...maybe Lt. Argyle couldn’t stand being around me anymore.”

 

Without warning, Will’s pulse jumped and his breath became shallow with mistimed panic. He hadn’t known Wes was in Engineering that day - what if something  _ had _ happened to him? He could have been electrocuted, or burned, or...Will was so upset at the thought that it  _ could  _ have been Wesley instead of Singh that it took several moments before he realized Wes was staring at him, concern beaming from his wide eyes.

 

He cleared his throat and his thoughts with a quick head shake. “Wes, what happened to Mr. Singh was terrible, but it was nobody’s fault. Death is…” Will paused, unsure how to finish that sentence. Death is what - a part of life? Inevitable? A reality of Starfleet? Something we all have to face? Will’s mother died when he was too young to remember her, but so what? Was he really going to sit here and lecture Wesley - who had been through his own childhood tragedy - on the fleeting nature of being mortal?

 

Wesley saved him the trouble, his bright voice sharpening to a dagger’s point. “I know what death is, Commander. I know Starfleet’s dangerous.” His tone changed, making a mockery of words he’d heard a thousand times since he was five. “‘Death’s a part of life in the fleet, we need to be prepared for it, everyone dies eventually,’ blah, blah, blah.” He glared at Will with all the seething rage his soft eyes could muster, and a shiver ran across the back of Will’s neck. Wes continued icily, “That’s  _ not  _ what I was asking. I just want to know if it’s my fault that Mr. Argyle left. That’s all.”

 

Still reeling from the sudden assault of his young friend’s anger, Will took a moment to regain the thread of conversation. This time, he decided the direct route was best. “Argyle didn’t leave because of you, Wes. I’m sure he had his reasons, but I promise it had nothing to do with you.”

 

Wes said nothing for a moment, his eyes boring a hole through the homework that Will knew he wasn’t even seeing. Then, his voice sounded in a fatalistic whisper. “I think I’m cursed.”

 

“Wesley.” Will’s tone was sharper than he intended, and he used a gentle hand to lift Wes’ face toward him. “You had  _ nothing  _ to do with Lt. Singh, and nothing to do with Argyle. Got it?” The young man nodded slowly, and Will was encouraged enough to continue. “And what do you mean by ‘cursed’? What kind of talk is that for a scientist?”

 

One bony shoulder lifted in a half-shrug, and Wes gestured toward the twinkling expanse outside the window. “It’s like...people who get close to me, they always end up leaving. Like the universe  _ wants  _ me to be alone.”

 

Well, that went south quickly. Was this why Picard avoided children? And did it start with this child, when the  _ Stargazer _ ’s captain was forced to crouch down, look his dead friend’s son in the eye, and tell him his father was gone?

 

But Will wasn’t Picard, and he strove to do better, especially with Wesley. “I’m sorry you’re upset, Wes. I know Mr. Singh was one of your instructors; I should have realized how his...accident...would affect you.”

 

Wesley’s hands clenched against the smooth surface of the table. “He was  _ nice  _ to me. So was Lt. Argyle. Why did he have to go?  _ Why do they always have to go?” _

 

Will’s mouth dropped in astonishment at Wesley’s outburst. Wes certainly had a habit of overthinking things, but that generally applied to his schoolwork, or one of his countless engineering projects. But the agony now bleeding through his voice was a sharp reminder that Wes overthought  _ everything _ , and every loss added another weight to his narrow shoulders. 

 

Before Will could open his mouth and potentially make the situation worse, Wesley gathered his rampant emotions and folded them away, as neatly and naturally as placing a shirt in a drawer. He placed his PADD carefully on the table, took a slow breath, and spoke without looking up. “I’m tired, Commander. May I please be excused? I promise I’ll finish the equations tomorrow.”

 

Will couldn’t care less about the math homework, but he did wish Wes would stick around so they could work this out. Knowing his young friend so well, however, Will recognized that anything else he got out of him would be painfully forced, so he chose to try again tomorrow. “Sure, Wes. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a Bridge day - I know you want to be rested for it.”

 

Wes gathered his things without looking at Will, and made a beeline for the door. “Thanks, Commander. See you tomorrow.”

 

***

 

Will’s eyes widened when he stepped onto the Holodeck - or more accurately, the simulated bridge of the  _ Stargazer.  _ His gaze fell on the slim figure curled in the First Officer’s chair, and Will smiled gently as he made his way around to stand in front of the command post.

 

Wesley peeked up from where his chin rested on his bent knees. “Oh, hi, Commander.”

 

“Hey. Why aren’t you in the captain’s seat? That’s where the  _ real  _ action happens.”

 

Wes blinked and looked back toward the bare floor. “This was my dad’s seat.”

 

Will’s breath caught, his head lowering in self-admonishment. The Ferengi had wanted to torture the captain, and Picard’s old ship fit conveniently into their nefarious plan. The captain himself didn’t seem particularly attached to the  _ Stargazer _ , although admittedly, Will still struggled to read his commanding officer’s moods. After a brief sentimental sojourn, the Ferengi’s brainwashing had killed any desire to reminisce, and Picard seemed happy enough to leave the ship behind. Will hadn’t even considered that Wesley might feel differently.

 

He hesitantly lowered himself into the command chair. The reverent silence of the place, underscored only by the simulated hum of engines, seemed too solemn to break. Will felt like an intruder in the memory of a ship, and a man, that didn’t belong to him.

 

“A bit smaller than the  _ Enterprise,  _ isn’t she?” Will’s hushed voice tried awkwardly to counter the old ship’s spell.

 

Wesley’s arms tightened around his knees. “Dad called it a ‘tin can.’” His bow lips sank in a puzzled frown. “I never knew exactly what that meant, but Dad always seemed like he was only half-joking when he said it.” His eyes, darkened to a stormy gray, took in the cramped bridge, landing on consoles and equipment that were now woefully outdated. “He did love this ship, though,” he murmured, and Will heard the aching sadness behind Wesley’s words.

 

“Not as much as he loved you,” Will insisted, leaning forward to catch his young friend’s gaze. 

 

Wesley pierced him to his seat, quick green flecks of anger flashing in his eyes. “You didn’t even know him.”

 

Will took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “You’re right. But I’ve heard you talk about him. I’ve seen that holo on your mother’s table of him holding you when you were a baby.”

 

Wes unwrapped his arms, letting his legs drop back to the floor. “That picture’s tucked into a corner;  _ I  _ put it there. I don’t think Mom was even going to unpack it, but she didn’t say anything when I put it out.” His eyes narrowed. “How did  _ you  _ notice it?”

 

Will shrugged. “I have amazing eyesight.” He arched a self-satisfied brow. “Better than Data’s, I bet.”

 

That got him a tiny smile along with a slight eye roll. “I doubt that.” Wes’ gaze ran the length of the bridge again, but now he was more pensive, the loss of his father, and all the things he could have been, less biting. “I wish I knew him better. I mean, I remember him, but I can only remember what  _ I  _ knew about him. He was only my dad for five years; there was so much about him that I never got to learn.”

 

Will’s heart ached for Wesley, and he tried desperately to ease the hurt for both of them. “Why don’t you ask your mother, or…or the captain? I’m sure they’d be happy to…”

 

“I’m sure they  _ wouldn’t _ .” That bitter edge was back in Wesley’s voice, and Will understood the recklessness of his suggestion. He cast around for a better idea, and only ended up floundering deeper.

 

“Well, what about the other old crew members? Commander Keel’s at HQ; you can write to him. I actually ran across Ben Zoma on the  _ Hood  _ \- I think he’s a captain now…” He trailed off at the tense set of Wesley’s lips, the frustrated glare in his eyes.

 

“ _ Nobody  _ wants to talk to a dead person’s kid about their parent, Commander. Why should they? Did you see how easily the captain let the  _ Stargazer  _ go? All the adults get to keep their memories, and I just get the little bits I can piece together. It’s not...it’s not  _ fair _ .”

 

His head and shoulders drooped, both hands rising to swipe furiously at his now-damp cheeks. Will placed a tentative hand on his young friend’s back, searching for some way to comfort him. Wesley’s hands dropped back to his lap, and Will felt him take a deep breath before mumbling toward the floor, “Sorry, Commander.”

 

“Why are you apologizing? You didn’t do anything to me.” Will spoke more gently than he ever did to anyone. He studied Wesley’s face carefully, finding similarities to the new father in the picture frame in Wes’ rich brown hair and upturned nose. “You’re right that everyone who knew your dad has their own memories of him. But you realize that includes you, don’t you? The adults knew him as a friend, a colleague. You knew him because he was  _ yours _ .” Slow acceptance stole into Wesley’s eyes. Will was no counselor, but he was relieved to have hit on the right path. “Tell me a story about him, Wes. Something only you would know.”

 

Wes pursed his lips, sifting through his early childhood to find something he was willing to share. “One time when Dad was home on leave, my parents took me to the Sausalito Cetacean Institute. They take in marine animals that are sick or injured, and try to rehabilitate them. The ones that survive live at the Institute. I remember I was upset that the animals didn’t get to go back to the ocean. I tried to find the door to one of the tanks so I could ‘rescue’ a leatherback turtle and release it back to its family.” 

 

Will laughed. “I’m surprised you didn’t just jump in the tank.”

 

Mischief sparkled in Wes’ eyes. “I think I wanted to, but my parents held me back. Anyway, Dad said the turtle wasn’t sad, because it found a family that took care of it and protected it at the Institute. Before we left, he and Mom bought me a stuffed turtle doll. I named it Saucy, for Sausalito.” He looked outward to the simulated stars on the ship’s small viewscreen. “Dad said it was a good name.”

 

“It is a good name,” Will agreed with a gentle smile.

 

“I know it’s just a little thing, and maybe it’s only important to me, but that was a  _ good _ day.” His chronometer pinged, and Wes looked down in surprise. “Oh, I have class; I didn’t realize we were in here so long.” He peeked shyly at Will, a hopeful light in his large eyes. “Maybe...maybe later I could...you know...tell you more stories about him.”

 

A satisfied smile lit Will’s face.  _ Mission accomplished.  _ “I can’t wait to hear them.”

 


	7. Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesley has a decision to make, and it's not going to be easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode is based on "Coming of Age," where Wesley has to take the Academy entrance exam (for the first of several times). The main plot is actually about a supposed conspiracy in Starfleet, and some jerky commander comes in and tries to out-strut Riker (can you imagine?!) and it was all very dull to 14-year-old me who really wanted more of Wesley. There are some interesting bits with one of Wes' peers named Jake Kurland. I almost included him in this chapter, but I think I'll save him for another story I'm working on about Wes and Nova Squad. 
> 
> I felt like I started to FINALLY hit a bit of a stride with this chapter, so hopefully there's a noticeable improvement. Please, please comment and let me know what you liked and what I can work on to make it better - I promise, I won't take it personally! Thanks again to everyone reading this; you inspire me to write my heart out!

 

Chapter 7: Age

 

The candles had barely stopped smoking on his birthday cake before Wesley felt a flutter of panic awaken inside him. He tried to shove it down, back to the hidden corners of his mind that liked to question the path he was on. He couldn’t blame the _Enterprise’_ s command staff for pushing him into Starfleet; his future was set the day he watched his mother fold away his father’s uniform for the last time.

 

Now, surrounded by friends and family and staring at his untouched slice of cake, Wesley’s thoughts turned anxiously to his upcoming Academy entrance exam. School tests never fazed him; at a young age, he had learned to ace them quickly so he could get back to his own projects. When tests were  _ too  _ basic, he even made a game of it, trying to beat his best time. His record was three minutes and thirteen seconds on an eight-page trig exam.

 

No, it wasn’t the Academy’s academic standards that tied his stomach in knots. It was the descending dread heralding a test for which Wesley was entirely unprepared - the legendary Psych Test. 

 

His dark thoughts were interrupted by a solid presence suddenly appearing by his side, and a welcome voice to go with it. “What, you’re too old for cake now?”

 

Wes grinned up into Commander Riker’s amused blue eyes. “Yes. I can only eat mashed potatoes through a straw.”

 

That made Riker laugh outright, and something pleasant and warm bloomed in Wes’ chest. Riker gestured around Ten-Forward. “Big day today.”

 

Wes nodded, trying to swallow the last bits of worry. “Yeah, it was great. It was really nice of everyone to come.”

 

Riker was watching him closely. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

 

Right to the point. Wes thought about trying to bluff, then remembered who he was talking to. “Nervous,” he admitted. “Not about the subject tests, about…” He trailed off, and Riker seemed to understand.

 

“Everyone gets nervous about that part, Wes,” the older man told him. “I had nightmares for a week before mine.”

 

Wesley scowled at the ground. “That’s not very encouraging.”

 

Riker shrugged. “Anything in particular you’re worried about?”

 

Ten-Forward buzzed around them, but Wesley didn’t really want to be there anymore. It was bad manners for the guest of honor to leave his own party, but Wes wished he and Riker could go somewhere more private. He didn’t need half the ship knowing their wunderkind was a bundle of nerves over a stupid test.

 

He tried to brush the moment off, hoping Riker would drop it. “Not really. It’s just another test, right?”

 

Even without the older man’s vaunted poker skills, Wes’ false bravado was painfully transparent. “Uh-huh. You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?”

 

Wes nodded automatically and quickly shoved a too-large bite of cake into his mouth, hoping for a distraction. He got one; the cake went down the wrong way and sent him into a choking spasm, which he tried to cover even as his eyes watered and his air ran out. A series of quick, sharp raps on the back from Riker’s large hand managed to dislodge the cake so Wes could breathe again. He could feel his cheeks immediately flare with embarrassment, and glared up at Riker, who was now trying to keep himself from choking with laughter.

 

“Thank you, Commander,” he muttered stiffly.

 

Riker pulled himself together and eyed him with a seriousness that was entirely ruined by the dimples flashing in his handsome face. “Of course, Ensign. Can’t have you choking to death on your birthday, can we?”

 

Mindful of his own growing maturity, Wes refrained from sticking out his tongue at the older man. “It’s a good thing you were here to rescue me.” Riker smiled fondly, and Wesley took a more careful bite of cake.

 

***

 

Wesley struggled to remember the details of the next day, proving how off his game he really was. A flutter of excited nerves as he hugged his mother and stepped onto the transporter pad, and his delight at meeting Mordock, already a published engineer. He remembered his manners when greeting the other candidates; Mom would have been proud. The Vulcan was sharp; Wesley wondered why she had chosen Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy. The other girl was sweet, but she kept invading his personal space with a smile and a flutter of eyelashes. Wes was too polite to tell her off, but he did keep inching away as subtly as he could.

 

The academic exams were surprisingly basic, and Wes found himself a bit disappointed.  _ Don’t complain _ , he told himself. The little surprise tests that popped up were at least interesting to anticipate, and Wes felt relieved that he was able to pull Zaldan social customs from somewhere in the cluttered back of his mind. He was used to the  _ Enterprise  _ crew’s effusive praise - particularly his mother and Riker’s - and Commander Chang’s tacit manner made him uneasy. By the time he collapsed into bed that night, Wesley was certain he’d pass out immediately; he set the loudest alarm he could to ensure he wouldn’t sleep through tomorrow’s test session.

 

He needn’t have worried. Wesley’s brain never stopped whirling, and as much as he often wished he could just shut off the flow of thoughts, at least it was usually about pleasantly interesting topics, but not tonight. He lay in his bed, first on his back, then curled on one side, then the other, and finally on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow, wondering if he could suffocate himself to sleep. His slithering paranoia about the challenge of the coming day had festered into full-blown panic, and his brain threw scenario after scenario at him in a dizzying mental assault. The psychological assessment was precisely designed to force him to stare down his greatest fear; what would the algorithm devise?

 

Some phobia from childhood? There was plenty to choose from, certainly. Wes had always hated rats, and snakes didn’t thrill him. He had a lingering fear of ferrets; they looked like rodents, and a neighboring kid on Tethys had owned a vicious one that he would shove in Wesley’s face just to see him jump. Somehow, Wes doubted the Academy would give him something so obvious.

 

It was a  _ psych  _ test; maybe they’d target a perceived weakness in his character. Anxiety when things didn’t go as planned, maybe, or the crippling shame when he failed at some task, especially in front of adults. A tendency toward isolation, a nagging sense that he didn’t fit in and never would. Equations and theories made sense to him, but people often remained a frustrating puzzle.

 

_ Ding ding ding  _ \- of course! The Psych Test would challenge his social awkwardness, upend the delicate balancing act of knowing he was too brainy for his peers and too baby-faced for the adults. He considered that the test might toss him into a random social situation to see if he’d flounder, but the Academy was too fastidious for that. They wouldn’t bother dissecting his profile unless the test was meant to hone in on specifics.

 

So who would they pit him against? Worf? Wes stifled a laugh at the thought. Other people steered clear of the scowling Klingon, but Wesley actually sort of liked him. He was gruff and cranky, sure, but he was fair, and he was never  _ mean _ . You just had to know how to handle him.

 

Maybe he’d have to deal with his mother. It had been just the two of them for so long, and Wes loved her - of course he did - but lately he sensed small tremors in the landscape between them. Nothing definite, just a raised eyebrow here, a sharp note there, but enough to awaken a vague, uneasy resentment in his heart. It wasn’t fear, though, so perhaps it was of no interest to the Academy.

 

Wes felt confident the test wouldn’t reference Data or Geordi; they were both friendly to him, and never seemed to mind his endless technical questions. Riker was equally unlikely. He always felt safe and comfortable around the First Officer, perhaps more than he was willing to admit. Riker seemed to enjoy his company as well, and Wes knew the older man had shielded him from the captain on more than one occasion.

 

The captain. Of course.

 

In his darkened room, blankets twisting around his ankles, the realization flooded Wesley with dread. Picard was formidable on his  _ best  _ days, and Wesley was fairly certain that the man saved his most severe moods just for him. The more reasonable part of his brain told him it wasn’t personal. Everyone knew the captain hated kids, and despite that, hadn’t he allowed Wes on the bridge and made him an acting ensign? But then that bitter, hissing voice chimed in, the one Wes knew he should ignore:  _ He’s only nice to you because of your parents.  _ Whatever his motives, Captain Picard was stern, humorless, impatient and often dismissive of him. How could his father have been friends with someone like that?

 

Wesley sat up enough to pull his knees to his chest and rest his now-aching head on his crossed arms. This was getting him nowhere. Morning would come in a flash, and he couldn’t afford to face his deepest fear - whatever it was - on no sleep. He got up and crept silently to his desk, found the PADD he needed by touch, and burrowed back under the covers. He finally passed out wandering the labyrinth of the distant Traveler’s warp equations, and only found his way back when his alarm blared a few hours later.

 

***

 

The next day, bleary-eyed and slightly nauseous, Wesley walked into the testing room. It reminded him of a prison cell - stark white walls, hard tiled floor, and a single rolling chair in the center. He perched on the edge of the seat, twisting his hands together hard enough to turn his knuckles white. He had forgotten his chronometer in his exhausted hurry this morning, so he had no way of tracking how much time had passed. It may as well have been forever, and he was seriously considering running back to the  _ Enterprise  _ when a crash sounded outside the door, loud enough to shake the bare walls.

 

Wes leapt from his chair and shot into the corridor, turning wildly to locate the source of the noise. He didn’t have to look far; less than fifteen meters away, thick black smoke was pouring out of open double doors at the end of the hall. Wesley stood frozen until a hoarse voice cried for help through the haze, then he took off running. His headlong rush came to an abrupt halt just inside the doors, impeded by charred wreckage scattered throughout the room. Wes had a grim impression of building toys he used to have, lit on fire and thrown haphazardly by a giant’s hand. His attention snapped back to the pleading voice, now clearly coming from a red-uniformed man pinned behind a collapsed circuit panel.

 

“Help me, please!” The officer reached a hand out, and Wesley swallowed hard at the blood smeared over the man’s fingers. 

 

“Stay right there; I’ll...I’ll get you out!” Wes began climbing gingerly over the debris littering the floor, careful to avoid the sudden bursts of steam from damaged equipment, when an anguished cry pierced the air.

 

“Help! Don’t leave me here!” The pleading voice came from deeper in the cavernous room, a far corner hidden by smoke that made Wesley’s throat close and his eyes water. 

 

Wes turned to follow the cry, but the first man reached out again, straining against the panel holding him down. The alert klaxon blared in Wesley’s ears, and he dimly made out the computerized warning that the main doors would close soon - he had thirty seconds to make a choice and get out.

 

_ Who lives, who dies; why is that up to me?!  _ Wesley needed to save them both, he  _ had  _ to, and for a microsecond he thought - just maybe - he could stop the clock, that he could  _ make  _ more time. But then an electrical panel exploded above his head, and the moment was lost. He had to choose, so he picked the person who was closest - the one, statistically, he had the best chance of saving - and hated himself for it.

 

***

 

Wesley sat alone in the unlit conference room, staring out the window and watching Relva 7 disappear into the star-studded distance. The captain had stopped in earlier, and Wes felt strangely comforted by Picard’s reassurance that he himself had failed the Academy test the first time, and that he did not, in fact, consider Wesley’s failure a shipwide catastrophe. The captain had been very kind, sympathetic in a way that Wes had never seen him before. He  _ had  _ insisted that Acting Ensign Crusher would test again next year, but in his gentler demeanor Wes dared to hope he spotted the glimmer of mutual respect.

 

He turned and stood at the swish of the doors, expecting the captain again, probably to shoo him out of the room. Instead, Commander Riker’s tall form came striding through, and Wes met his wide smile with a rueful grin.

 

Riker clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You did good, kiddo. I’m proud of you.”

 

Wes frowned, his cheeks starting to warm at the undeserved praise. “For what? I didn’t get in.”

 

Riker shrugged. “So what?” 

 

“What do you mean,  _ so what? _ I  _ failed _ .” Wesley wondered if he would ever learn the trick of brushing things off, of moving past things that hurt. Lately, every step he took was like navigating an asteroid belt, and he wished he could absorb Riker’s easy confidence.

 

The older man sat, motioning for Wesley to do the same. “Bullshit. You did your best, right? You gained experience, you learned some of the Academy’s tricks, and, best of all…” Riker’s smile flashed again, blue eyes twinkling like the stars outside the window. “...you get to stay here on the ship.”

 

Wesley opened his mouth to argue, then stopped and cocked his head when he realized he had no good counter-argument. Riker laughed at him, and Wes dipped his chin and tried to stifle his own giggles, now bubbling up through the pressure cooker of the last few days. He coughed a few times to get himself under control before trying to speak again.

 

“I suppose that’s a good way to look at it.” He eyed Riker suspiciously. “Are you going to make me do an essay on ‘What I learned at the Academy Testing Site?’”

 

Riker raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm...maybe later. How about we get out of here and head to Ten-Forward? My treat.”

  
Wesley was out of his chair in a flash, heading for the door ahead of Riker’s long stride. As they walked companionably down the corridor, Wesley realized that he  _ had  _ lucked out. He was safe at home with Riker at his side, and the hardest decision he had to make was what kind of toppings he wanted on his ice cream.


	8. Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q gives Will a gift. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's based on the episode "Hide and Q", where Q gives Riker powers and various shenanigans ensue. It's popularly known as the one where Wesley gets impaled, a scene that was cut when it aired overseas. It's actually not a terrible episode (especially for the first season), but for me, the most outrageous part was when Riker makes Wesley an adult. The actor who plays the grown-up Wes is - get this - at least 6'2", barrel-chested, and BLOND. Wil Wheaton actually joked once that he's pretty sure that casting was the costume designer's greatest wish, not Wesley's. As if that weren't ridiculous enough, they dubbed in Wil Wheaton's voice when the older actor speaks. So naturally, I fixed THAT nonsense, and tried to describe Wes more in line with how he would ACTUALLY look a few years later. 
> 
> As always, I'm counting on you guys to comment, and PLEASE don't worry about hurting my feelings. Let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and how I can improve, and I'll do my best to make it worth your time!
> 
> I don't own Star Trek, but if I did, adult Wesley would have been played by...anybody else.

 

 

Chapter 8: Hide

 

Will reclined against the imaginary rock on Q’s made-up planet, and laughed until his throat was raw. Q stood by, a slightly annoyed expression tinging his usual arrogance.

 

“Something amuses you, Riker? Care to share the joke?”

 

Will found himself wanting to rattle Q, to see just how far he could push this omnipotent asshole before Q snapped him out of existence. His chin jutted out as he bit off each word. “The joke is  _ you.”  _ Q took half a step forward and raised an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation. “You could have chosen anyone to give powers to. I won’t do what you want on principle, so why pick me?”

 

Why indeed. “Exactly the point, Commander. As a Q, you needn’t do what  _ anyone  _ wants; you are free to fulfill your own desires without regard for others.”

 

Will wasn’t satisfied. “But there  _ are  _ others on the ship you could have chosen,” he insisted. “What about them?”

 

Q’s temper lashed out suddenly, like a cobra striking the core of Will’s resolve. “Powers or no, I am certainly not compelled to explain myself to  _ you,  _ Riker.” He reined himself in, but his eyes glinted dangerously. “Let’s say you won by default and leave it at that, shall we?”

 

Will didn’t remember getting to his feet; one moment he was sitting, and before he finished thinking about standing, he was. If nothing else, Q’s powers were an efficient way to get around. Will clapped imaginary dust from his hands and looked around. “So what am I supposed to do now?”

 

Q rolled his eyes, responding as one would to a particularly dense Pakled. “I forget how unimaginative your species is. I already covered this: you can do  _ whatever you want _ . Any diversion, any form of amusement or entertainment.” An almost imperceptible pause. “Some...game, perhaps?”

 

Before he could think to block Q out, Will felt the creature shuffling through the pages of his mind. He scrambled to slam the book shut, but not before Q snatched a fleeting memory right out of his head, holding it aloft in triumph. Such a simple, everyday activity - he and Wesley on opposite sides of a chess board. Will had started the games as a reward for getting through the Federation policy lessons that he knew the young man despised. They had last played a couple of days ago, but had to suspend the game when Will was called to the bridge. 

 

Q looked suspiciously thoughtful. “Such a simplistic metaphor, chess,” he mused. “Kings, queens, dutiful little soldiers - a tribute to your species’ bellicose nature. What say we raise the stakes a bit, hmm?”

 

He snapped his fingers, and a series of lights flashed around Will, each one fading in turn to reveal a familiar figure: Worf, Tasha, Geordi... _ Wesley _ . Will had no idea what was about to happen, but he knew he didn’t want Wes anywhere near Q’s schemes.  _ I can do whatever I want,  _ he remembered, relief loosening his tense muscles. He reached toward Wes with one hand, intending to send the youth back to the ship with a quick snap. But when he blinked, Wesley was still there, looking around with that pure curiosity that Will usually loved to see. Will turned furiously to Q, who smirked back at him.

 

“No playing with the pieces before the game begins, Commander,” Q admonished. Will had never wanted to punch a creature so badly, but it appeared that, unlike the Q in front of him, his own powers had limits. Before he could consider the ramifications of that discovery, Wolf’s deep baritone barked out a warning.

 

“Commander - the hill!”

 

Will spun to face the gentle slope several hundred meters distant, and his heart sank. A battalion of soldiers was marching inexorably toward them, dressed in an ancient Earth military style that Will recognized from his childhood history classes. Long-barreled firearms rested over their shoulders, topped with blades that glinted in the grimy light.

 

With her sharper eyes, Tasha noticed something decidedly  _ off  _ about the soldiers. “What  _ are  _ they?”

 

Will looked closer, quickly recoiling in disgust at the creatures’ faces, the sharp tusks protruding from thick snouts. “Walking animals; looks like some kind of vicious pig.”

 

Behind him, Q laughed, sending an unpleasant shiver down Will’s spine. “Be careful with your insults, Commander. What is it humans say about glass houses?”

 

Will glared at him, but before he could form a retort, Worf growled low behind him. “Whatever they are, they are the  _ enemy _ .” And before Will could stop him, the Klingon ran at full tilt toward the oncoming infantry.

 

Frozen in place, the little group could only watch in horror as Worf pulled a serrated dagger from his sash and launched himself at the advancing line. The nearest soldier lowered his weapon, and for a moment Will’s confidence rose; Worf could easily dodge a bayonet attack. The Klingon brandished his own blade, but before he could strike, a flash of light revealed a second soldier behind him. Worf never even saw the creature; it grabbed him by his thick neck in a chokehold, giving his comrade a clear shot at Worf’s chest. A sickening red beam shot from the end of the rifle, and Worf crumpled to the ground.

 

Will put every ounce of frantic effort he could muster into  _ thinking  _ Worf back to life, but no matter how many times he snapped his fingers, the Klingon remained prone and lifeless in the dust. He turned to Q, mouth open to demand an explanation - where was the sport in giving him powers he couldn’t use?! As soon as his head was turned away, he felt someone rush past him, and Tasha and Geordi both cried out. Their youngest crew member, seeing the adults rooted in place, had rushed to Worf’s side, heedless of the enemy combatants closing in.

 

Wesley didn’t scream when the blade plunged through his back and emerged out of his ribcage; he gasped so softly that Will never would have heard it without his Q-enhanced hearing. Will turned just in time to see the emerald flecks in his eyes dim to dull moss, and he watched, rooted in place, as Wesley’s body pitched forward like a newly-cut sapling, and then Will’s throat finally opened.

 

At the commander’s horrified bellow, the porcine soldier and his bayonet disappeared, but the damage was done. Will’s feet lurched forward, his gifted powers forgotten. He knelt in the red-soaked dust, rolling Wesley’s prone body over and gathering him in his arms. If not for the blood pooling over his torso, Wes could have been only sleeping. Long eyelashes lay dark against his porcelain cheeks, long limbs still pliant against Will’s frantic hands. His angel’s lips were pursed very slightly, as they did when he was absorbing some new scientific concept. Will wanted to cover those lips with his own mouth, to breathe life back into him and watch his bright eyes open. He heard a choking sob, and almost thought it was Wesley come back to life, until he watched his own tears fall onto the young man’s sweet face.

 

In the back of his mind he heard another sound; a voice like Q’s, but of a different chord.  _ That one was not supposed to die.  _

 

Then Q, petulant,  _ It’s the human’s fault; he did this.  _

 

Then the other Q again, annoyed and disapproving,  _ The Travelers will be...displeased.  _

 

A loaded pause. Q, feigning defiance,  _ What do I care?  _

 

The other Q, now sharp, commanding,  _ You have had your fun. End this. Now. _

 

Dressed in his field marshall’s regalia on the dusty battlefield, Q gave a laborious sigh and snapped his fingers.

 

***

 

Pounding heart. Mind clouded with grief, rage, thoughts of revenge. Will’s Q powers coursed through his veins, his eyes falling murderously on Q, when suddenly he noticed...the captain? The Bridge - they were on  the Bridge. Will allowed himself one relieved breath before squaring off with the now red-uniformed Q.

 

“Ready to give up, Riker?” Q’s smirk served only to remind Will how he hated him. “Or to give in?”

 

Will answered with a sneer of his own. “Not a chance.” Through his defiance, Will did a quick headcount of the Bridge crew. All there, all safe. All looking to him with unvoiced expectations, and perhaps the tiniest bit of judgment. All except Wesley, who was looking not at Will, but at Q, with fearless curiosity burning in his eyes. Will’s stomach twisted as he remembered the bayonet cutting him down, and even though Wes stood before him, alive and unharmed, Will’s conscience compelled him to make amends. And if he could pull Wes’ attention away from Q, so much the better.

 

Purposely ignoring the omnipotent creature, Will cleared his throat and gestured imperiously toward the waiting crew. “My friends! I know I may seem...different...but I’m the same Will Riker you’ve always known. Just...improved.” He finished with what he hoped was a reassuring grin, but the crew stayed silent and Wesley - goddamnit - was still staring at Q. 

 

“Perhaps, Commander, they’re recalling the old adage that power corrupts.” Picard’s admonishment was delivered with an undercurrent of irritability, unaccustomed as he was to ceding authority on his own ship.

 

Will barked out a hollow laugh. “And absolute power corrupts absolutely? Do you think I haven’t thought of that, Jean-Luc?”

 

_ That _ \- that level of disrespect toward  _ The Captain  _ \- made Wesley finally look at him, and Will’s heart sank at the recrimination darkening his sweet face. He wanted Wesley’s attention, but not like this. Hastily adjusting his tone, Will attempted an amiable smile. “It isn’t right that only I should benefit from Q’s...attention. Since the power was given to me, I wish for all of you to have your greatest desires.”

 

And like a benevolent deity, Will dispensed gifts to those in his favor. A companion for Worf. Geordi’s sight. And for the Crushers…

 

Beverly suddenly leapt to Wesley’s side, tugging at his arm and looking urgently toward the turbolift. “Come with me, Wes,” she almost pleaded. Wesley hesitated, and Will pressed his advantage.

 

“Doctor, wait! Did you think I’d forget you and your son?”

 

Wes watched him curiously, but Beverly turned furious blue eyes on him. She said nothing, but Will’s Q powers allowed him a direct line into her head.  _ Don’t you dare, Will Riker. You’ll frighten him; you’ll do more harm than good. _

 

Will frowned, and for the first time seemed to show a tiny atom of conscience. He matched the doctor’s glare for a loaded moment, then decided, in an act of expansive goodwill, to let the dead rest. Still, he had to come up with  _ something _ ; he really did feel a kindred with the Crushers, and Wesley...didn’t he deserve to have a dream come true?

 

He smiled charmingly at both of them. “Wes, I feel like I know you best of all. Our friendship, our long talks…” Dismissing Beverly’s rising outrage, he barreled on. “Have your favorite wish, my young friend.”

 

Wes finally opened his soft lips, but before he could utter a sound, light flashed around the slight teen, and Will blinked at the brightness. When it passed, his mouth fell open, and something he hadn’t felt for a very long time stole into his heart.

 

In place of the reedy, awkward acting ensign they all knew, there stood a man in the tender prime of young adulthood. Wesley’s striped tunic had been replaced by a full red-and-black ensign’s uniform, perfectly tailored to his tall, slender frame. His delicate, heart-shaped face had sharpened, leaving only traces of boyishness in his soft cheeks and button nose. A playful smile danced along his bow lips, causing a bolt of hunger to shoot through Will’s belly. His eyes were  _ almost  _ the same; wide and wondering, with flashing sparks of gray and green. But they held a gravity in them that Will didn’t recognize, a promise of whispers and secrets just waiting to be discovered.

 

“Isn’t he lovely, Commander?” Q hissed in his ear. “The same bright eyes, soft skin and plush lips, only now, he’s old enough to take.” Q’s deprecating laugh barely penetrated the haze of desire fogging Will’s brain. “You called it his favorite wish, Riker, but I rather think it might be yours.”

 

“Commander?” This older version of Wesley - and really, he didn’t look  _ that  _ much older - took half a step forward, and Will’s title flowed like fragrant honey from his lips. Will wanted to hold him, to taste that sweetness with his own mouth, but then the unfamiliar timbre of Wesley’s adult voice washed over him again. “It’s too soon for this.”

 

Will opened his mouth to protest, to beg, to hear once again Wesley’s bright, tempered tone, like sun playing off hammered bronze. But Wes only shook his head, liquid regret shimmering in his wide eyes. “Not yet...Will.”

 

He was right. Will could barely stand to admit it, but trying to fast-forward Wesley’s life was a selfish wish only for himself. He drank in the beautiful young man one last time, then gave a snap, the sight of a grown Wesley burned into his closed eyes.

 

***

 

Although he managed a happy ending, Will remained haunted by the twin images of Wesley’s growth  _ and  _ death, both of  which insisted on replaying in his head at very inopportune moments.

 

Wesley himself seemed no worse for the experience; true to his nature, he sought to analyze and dissect it, to deepen his understanding of the universe. Will just wanted to get back to normal, but Wes kept questioning him, even during the resumption of their chess game. 

 

“Was it fun?” Wes moved a piece, blocking in Will’s rook.

 

Will blinked. Was it  _ fun _ ? Being toyed with by Q had been terrifying, and enraging, and universally unfair. In the short time he had his powers, Will found them nearly uncontrollable, unleashing a frightening recklessness in himself. Underneath all of that, if he was being completely honest, it most certainly had been fun. But telling Wesley that would be irresponsible.

 

“It was scary, Wes. And a load of responsibility, having power like that.” He arched an eyebrow, trying to project mature prudence, but Wesley’s smirk told him he was only fooling himself. “What are you thinking, Einstein?”

 

Wes’ cheeks plumped in a playful smile. “I think you’re lying.” He frowned, the image of a disappointed cherub. “Or maybe you just didn’t get to be a Q for long enough.”

 

Will snorted. “Oh, I think I had plenty of quality time with Q.” He softened his tone, tapping Wesley’s hand where it rested next to the board. “I’m just glad you’re safe. You, and everyone else.”

 

Wes gazed at the board, toying with a pawn he had stolen earlier. “I know Q’s kind of a jerk, but having powers like that must be...well, you could go anywhere in the universe.” He turned to look out the window, his hazel eyes shining, chasing his thoughts across the galaxy. “I’ll bet it’s fun,” he finished softly.

 

Will followed the line of Wesley’s gaze, and wished he had his powers back, just for a moment, just to give Wesley this. “Yeah, I’ll bet it is.” 

 


	9. Epilogue: Rain Delay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's a brat, and the Traveler has the patience of a saint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it for this story; I tried to do justice to the major episodes in the first season. In re-watching those shows, I forgot what a squishy baby Wesley was (and I mean that in the best way). I will argue to the death that the writer's screwed that character royally, and Wil Wheaton did the best he could. I'm glad I was too young to notice when I first became a fan; I only cared that there was a kid I could relate to, doing the coolest job I could imagine.
> 
> I have a few WIPs that I'm itching to get to, so I'll be working on those next. A couple of them have lots of Wes/Riker smut (yay!). I'm also working on a longer Nova Squadron fic that will feature plenty of angst, but not as much of Will. I am so, so grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read my work, and especially to those of you who have commented. I'm so lucky to be part of such a supportive community, so from the bottom of my heart - thank you!

 

 

Chapter 9 - Epilogue: Rain Delay

 

Q slumped against the stalk of a giant fern on a planet light-years from the Alpha Quadrant. His arms were crossed and his mouth curled down in an infantile pout. “You spoiled my fun.”

 

The Traveler refused to take the bait. “We don’t wish to interfere. Please give our thanks to your Continuum for their...assistance.”

 

Q scoffed and kicked at the poor plant. “I will  _ not _ . And don’t give me that ‘we don’t interfere’ nonsense; you interfere well enough when it suits your interests.”

 

“We are...sorry you feel that way.”

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

The Traveler dipped his bald head agreeably. “No, we’re not.”

 

“So what will you do for the boy now? Despite your warnings, Picard will find a way to screw this up, I promise you that. Humans always do.”

 

The Traveler sighed. “We can not remove every obstacle - and there  _ will  _ be obstacles. We can only trust that he will find his way through.”

 

Q’s eyes glinted with sly mischief. “Perhaps the Continuum will take him under our wing. Traveler abilities combined with Q powers - imagine the possibilities.”

 

A slight tightening of his prominent brow was the only sign of irritation from the Traveler. “Our official arrangement is, of course, to coexist peacefully with the Q.” He began to glow from within, signaling his departure. “But as you say, we will protect our own interests.”

 

The glow faded, taking the Traveler with it. In an omnipotent act of brattiness, Q stuck his tongue out at the empty spot. Then he too disappeared, in search of a new game.

 


End file.
